Sherlock and Molly
by Rhiose
Summary: Are Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper just colleagues, friends or more? Characters will include those that are normally seen but the focus is, of course, more on Sherlock and Molly.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**_The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

Sherlock Holmes turned the handle on the laboratory door and entered. The lights were off. It meant that Molly Hooper's work had ended. He shifted to the right to turn the lights on. As he made his way to Molly's worktop, Sherlock unzipped a small bag and took out a handkerchief and a bottle of liquid. He set it on the worktop, not without noticing that Molly had forgotten to take her mobile phone which she had left on the side of her worktop.

Sherlock pulled on a pair of latex gloves, slid his finger over the handkerchief and looked at his finger. Nothing. He took a microscope slide from the first drawer and deposited a drop of the liquid onto it. He then gingerly adjusted the stage height of the microscope and magnification before placing the handkerchief on the stage. He examined the cloth closely.

The door opened and Sherlock heard a mumble in a female voice.

"Molly, would you pass me the slide?" Sherlock asked without glancing upwards.

"Wha... hat slide? Where?" Molly stammered. _Seriously_, thought Sherlock, _why does she always have to stammer?_

"It's on the worktop," Sherlock replied, moving the handkerchief around.

Molly edged closer to the worktop and helped herself to a pair of latex gloves. She picked the slide up carefully and waited. Sherlock was in no rush. He knew that Molly would stay with him in the lab if he was nice enough.

"Thanks, Molly," Sherlock replied, removing the handkerchief and taking the slide from her.

Sherlock did what he needed to do while Molly took her mobile phone and made to leave.

"It's not safe to wander alone at night. Wait for me. I'll be done shortly," Sherlock said.

It was the kindest thing that he could do — to make sure Molly got back safely so he could still rely on her to see more dead bodies in the future. Molly gave a small sound of assent. He finally removed the slide and looked at Molly.

"Alas, I'm done!" he smiled gleefully, and placed the handkerchief and the bottle of liquid into the zipper bag. "Coming?"

Molly was clearing the mess Sherlock had made on her worktop. "Ah, ye... yes."

As they made their way out of the lab, Sherlock stared at Molly. Molly looked different. More womanly, somehow. Or maybe it was because she wasn't wearing the long white lab-coat that he was so used to seeing her in.

"You're looking lovely tonight, Molly," Sherlock offered as they reached the streets.

Molly blushed. "I'm taking a cab."

"So am I," Sherlock replied as he flagged a cab and offered it to Molly.

Molly smiled pleasantly. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave a small nod as he stopped a second taxi and got into it. "Baker Street, please."


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, here's the second chapter. I really love the Sherlock and Molly pairing but... I shan't ramble. Thank you to those who reviewed this and are tracking this/me.**

******Disclaimer: **_The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed as the door burst open. "Where the hell have you been?"

Sherlock looked at his friend and colleague, John Watson. John was being rather stupid for asking such a question. Obviously, he would be at St. Barts because that was almost the only other place where it was pointless to drag John along. He remained silent.

"Sherlock," grumbled John, "at least leave a little note or something."

Sherlock pursed his lips as he set about unpacking the small bag.

"People care for you, y'know," John said, trying to elicit an answer from Sherlock.

Sherlock sat down on his couch in a huff and crossed his legs. He stared blankly ahead.

"But, of course," John continued, "I don't expect you to take notice."

Sherlock turned slowly and looked at John. "I met Molly."

John gave a small laugh as he got up. "I give up. I'd rather talk to the skull!"

"Wait, John," Sherlock said, with a tone of urgency. "I really need to talk this out."

His friend gave a loud sigh. "There's Mrs Hudson. Why don't you talk to the poor lady? I'm sure she could do with some company."

"No," Sherlock replied as he rose and forced John back down into the opposite seat. "I need to talk to _you_."

A few minutes passed before Sherlock commenced on a rather long narrative. John gathered his flatmate had met Molly by complete chance and was struck by the sudden realization of her womanly charms.

"So now you like Molly?" John asked, leaning forward. "Wow, Sherlock. Never knew you could actually have feelings. Romantic ones especially!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyebrows. "I _do not_ like Molly."

John raised his eyebrows.

"Let me make myself clear. I like Molly as a friend. Nothing more, John," Sherlock said.

John's disbelieving look miffed Sherlock.

"It's impossible between Molly and me."

"Why not? You've never given it a chance bef – "

"I don't need to give things a chance before knowing how the outcome would be, John."

"Oh yeah," John replied with an exasperated look. "I _forgot_ that I'm talking to the _great_ consulting detective Sherlock Holmes who doesn't even know the Earth revolves around the Sun."

Sherlock angrily picked his violin and drew the bow across the strings. Why did John have to keep picking on such trivial, trivial matters when more important things were happening?

"Sherlock, you should listen to me when it comes to dating at least. I'm human, you know," John offered.

"Haven't seen Sarah around lately."

"She's busy."

"So busy moping around the café instead of hanging around with her boyfriend."

John stared at Sherlock. "Wha – "

"What I'm saying is, John," Sherlock cut in, "if you can't even keep your girlfriend happy, how can you give advice on my love life? Besides, I'm perfectly happy, thank you. I don't need anybody extra right now."

"You never seem to need anyone. That's what probably draws Molly to you."

"Why don't you try dating the dear girl?" Sherlock asked. "She'll be much better off with a sane man than with a sociopath."

"Self-proclaimed one, at that," John remarked. "And _I_ have a girlfriend!"

Sherlock twisted the bow of the violin and pointed at the ceiling. "I see cobwebs."

"Well, I'm off for my date with Sarah," John announced as he got up.

Sherlock looked up in surprise as John approached the door. "Ever since when?"

"Does it matter? And as for you who have no date to attend to, why don't you pick up that lovely damp brush lying beside the door and start cleaning the house?" John said as he stepped out of the house.

Sherlock glanced at the brush. He looked up at the ceiling. _Oh well_, he thought, _might as well keep myself occupied_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, we see Molly's thoughts here. It's pretty short because I don't want Molly to mope. So, enjoy! Thanks to those people who are keeping track of this story!**

_**Disclaimer: **__The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

Meanwhile, Molly was in her living room, sitting down on a comfortable couch with a quilt over her lap as she sipped on some sherry. Her thoughts kept moving back to Sherlock and … everything about Sherlock. She could remember so vividly how they had first met. She had been assigned to do a post-mortem examination on a corpse which Sherlock had insisted rather stubbornly on examining it as well – all because he wanted to solve the murder mystery.

Sherlock thought her biggest weakness was flattery. So the moment he had just leaned in a little and remarked how she still managed to look so vibrant and charming while in a morgue, she had caved in. Ever since then, well, Sherlock always knew how to get his way with her.

But flattery was not Molly's weakness. Even if any stranger had said something nice, her reaction would not have been the same. Her weakness was Sherlock. Everything about Sherlock. From the moment he appeared in front of her, she knew he had stolen her heart.

Now, what interested Molly most was Sherlock's behavior earlier. He seemed a little, if not quite, protective. Was it just a passing thing? Was he really concerned about Molly's safety? He usually didn't say such things to her. She knew Sherlock was just using her but yet she couldn't figure out why he said that. And what about that remark he made about her? Sherlock described her as _womanly_.

Did that mean he saw her as a woman?

Realization hit Molly and she accidentally slopped a bit of sherry down her blouse. A sense of thrill ran through her as that question repeated in her head. If that was the case, she would actually have a chance at –

No. She couldn't bring herself to create illusions and imaginary situations. Sherlock probably said that to appease her because she had waited some time for him. Other than that, he had made no other advances or at least shown some genuine interest in her.

Molly rose from the couch and headed to the sink. She washed her glass slowly and placed it on the counter. She headed to her bedroom and pondered on the possibility on meeting Sherlock the next day. In the morgue, of course.

She still had a little bit of hope.


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, we see Molly's thoughts here. It's pretty short because I don't want Molly to mope. So, enjoy! Thanks to those people who are keeping track of this story!**

_**Disclaimer:**__ The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

John trundled down the street to the bakery. Yet again, Sherlock had refused to budge from the room to buy his food. He had conveniently asked John to help him get a muffin. This, John noticed, not only meant that Sherlock was out of a case to investigate, but the miserable amount of food signified Sherlock's current state of mind.

It definitely had something to do with that weird lady down at the morgue. Molly Hooper. John had hardly spoken to her all the times they met – just simple greetings. But they had occasionally exchanged looks of exasperation whenever Sherlock had demanded to be left alone.

John entered the bakery and immediately grabbed a loaf of wheat bread. It was definitely healthier than having a muffin, thought John. He joined the queue at the counter and hummed a tune he heard on the radio in the morning. Brown hair, long and wavy was blocking his sight. As he scrutinised the person in front of him, he realised it was Molly Hooper!

"Er, Molly?"

The woman turned around cautiously. When she saw who had spoken, her expression changed into that of recognition.

"Dr Watson, am I right?" she replied, giving a small smile.

"Please, call me John."

* * *

When Molly Hooper entered the bakery, she thought how her day couldn't be more ordinary. What exciting thing could even happen at the bakery? It was not as if Sherlock would walk into the bakery. Oh, why was she even thinking about that wretched man? He only knew how to use her.

She walked over to join the queue at the counter. Breakfast, she decided, was more important than any thoughts concerning Sherlock Holmes. She scanned the rows of pastries, cakes and delightful muffins. Which should she take? Her favourite was the blueberry muffin. But she was suddenly jerked out of her contemplations when someone called out to her.

Could it be – ? But when she turned around, she realized that it was not. Just that doctor. Sherlock's friend. Oh! How evil fate could be to her! To make her meet Sherlock's friend instead of Sherlock himself. The very thought of his chiselled features sent Molly's heart racing as she smiled politely at Dr Watson.

* * *

Molly and John stared at each other. Not knowing what he should continue saying, John decided to stick to the safest topic concerning the bakery.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, gesturing to the bakery.

Molly pondered for a moment. "Well, almost every other week. You?"

"Whenever the food runs out at home. A certain someone just refuses to breathe some fresh air once in awhile."

"Doesn't Sh-Sherlock need to eat?"

"Whenever he's not involved in a case or when he's depressed."

"Oh dear. No wonder he's usually in a bad mood while he's working on a case."

John shrugged. "So what're you buying?"

Molly pointed at the blueberry muffin. "I love blueberries."

"Are you serious? They're Sherlock's favourite, too!"

Molly blushed as she walked forward to the cashier. "But there's only one piece left. You know, maybe I'll talk a banana walnut muffin instead and leave the blueberry for Sherlock."

As she placed her order, John looked at Molly in amazement. This woman was willing to give up her favourite item for a hopeless person like Sherlock? And to top it off, John had a niggling feeling that Molly was the cause of Sherlock's depression.

"Molly, just go ahead with the blueberry. I'm sure Sherlock wouldn't mind being a gentleman now and then."

Molly shook her head as she handed over the cash. "No, it's fine, really. I like this as well."

John sighed. He could never understand why women made things so complicated. If you liked something, just eat it!

"I'm going now." Molly waved.

John nodded and placed his order. Oh, how he was going to make sure Sherlock knew that someone could be so generous to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Once again, thanks heaps to those who added/reviewed this story. I really enjoy reading the reviews. It makes me want to write even better! :3**

_**Disclaimer**__: The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

Sherlock sat curled up in his worn-out armchair. Here he was, pondering and thinking and for the first time in his life, unable to find a solution. A solution to his feelings. _Feelings_.

"The great Sherlock Holmes," he said out loud. "Is that what I am? Can't even find a solution to something so incredibly simple."

"Emotions are definitely _not_ simple, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up as John stepped into the apartment. He raised an eyebrow. Was John, dear John, trying to tell him something important? No way, what was it that John knew – of utmost relevance and not some pathetic school facts – which he didn't know? Sherlock slammed his fist onto the chair in frustration. Why did he have to be human? Why did he need feelings? _Feelings_!

"Emotions – Feelings – They're all for pathetic fools, John," Sherlock said. "Unlike me."

Sherlock watched from the corner of his eyes as John made a face.

"Sherlock," John said slowly, "if you make such a statement, are you trying to say that every single human being out there is a fool? Isn't that a bit too much?"

"Weaknesses, John! Weaknesses! These little feelings become a person's weakness!" Sherlock threw the cushion onto the floor. "Only fools are weak."

"Sherlock, no one is perfect! Not even you!"

"I want to be! I can be!"

"Snap out of it, Sherlock! You're just another human who has emotions so carefully hidden beneath that cold mask you adorn."

"Nice words, Dr Watson."

John thrust the brown paper bag into Sherlock's face. "Molly sacrificed this for you."

Sherlock bolted upright. "Molly? She was at the bakery? Sacrifice? Surely there's nothing of such great importance to sacrifice."

Sherlock peered into the bag and saw the lonely blueberry muffin. Wait, did Molly like blueberry muffins as well? Sherlock's heart soared as he had finally found another similarity between them. He shook his head wildly. Did he just _feel_ something?

"John."

"Yes?"

"Did you tell her that you were getting this for me?"

"Er…"

"John!"

"No. She mentioned she loved blueberries."

"And?" Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the chair.

"I told her they were your favourite."

Sherlock let out a sigh. "Oh god, thank goodness she wasn't just imitating me."

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"So you like Molly!"

Sherlock kept quiet. John looked at his friend in amazement. Silence passed between them for a few minutes.

"Sherlock! Dr Watson!"

They turned to face the door as a kindly old woman came up to their apartment. She was waving two envelopes.

"Mrs Hudson, delighted to see you, as always," Sherlock chirped.

"Why, Sherlock, don't make me blush." Mrs Hudson smiled even though she looked secretly pleased. "These came in the mail just now for you two."

Sherlock glanced at the envelope before groaning. He recognised the large, sharp handwriting.

"Are you going to tell me who sent it?" John asked Sherlock, amused.

"It's that Lestrade, of course. Haven't you seen his handwriting enough to recognise it?" Sherlock answered and ripped the envelope open. He gave another groan when he saw its contents.

"Oh wow, a Christmas party! And it says here 'To Dr John Watson and partner'. Thank god he didn't think that _we_ were partners!"

"Haha. Very funny. How bewitching." Sherlock sulked. "I'm not going."

Mrs Hudson gasped. "But I got an invitation too! And if an old woman like me can go, I wonder why a young, dashing bachelor like you can't!"

"Think of Molly," John said, trying to be helpful.

"Molly?" Sherlock repeated, a dazed look coming over his face. "Molly?"

"I've got Sarah! Molly can be your 'partner' for the Christmas party!"

Mrs Hudson frowned. "Who's Molly?"

John gave a huge grin. "You'll see."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Thank you again to the people who added this to the alert/reviewed this. It makes me feel motivated to write :)**_

_**Disclaimer: **__The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

The invitation card lay open on the worktop. Molly was pink with excitement as she envisioned the prospect of meeting Sherlock at the party and, possibly, dancing with him. She stopped herself. No, she should not get carried away by her fantastical wishes. Sherlock didn't seem like the type to dance, let alone go to a Christmas party. Molly sighed. There was no way Sherlock would agree to go even if she asked him. But there was no harm trying, was there?

Molly picked up her phone. She hesitated for a moment before deciding to send a text message to Sherlock.

_Sherlock, are you going for the Christmas party?_

As her finger hit the send button, Molly trembled in anticipation. A few seconds later, her phone vibrated noisily. Molly snatched it from the table and hastened to read it.

_What Christmas party?_

Molly groaned. Surely, surely, Sherlock would have been invited by that DI Lestrade. She quickly replied,

_DI Lestrade's._

Molly leaned back on her chair and waited.

* * *

Sherlock's head jerked up the moment his phone beeped. He grabbed it from beside him and quickly read Molly's reply. Why was he so anxious to get her reply? He had purposely been ignorant about the party because he wanted Molly to quit asking. But the persistence from her reply could clearly be seen and Sherlock couldn't help but notice that he, too, wanted her to be persistent.

Sherlock shook his head hard. There was no time for nonsense like feelings, emotions and all those soft rubbish. Despite the strong protest from the practical side of him, he sent a reply to Molly.

_Yes. Received the invitation._

"-lock? Sherlock?"

He raised his head to see John looking worriedly at him.

"Yes, John?"

John shook his head in amazement. "How can _you_, the _great_ Sherlock Holmes, be so negligent of your surroundings?"

"I'm distracted."

"I surmised as much."

"By …" Sherlock hesitated.

"By?"

Sherlock did not complete his sentence.

"Is it Molly?"

Sherlock gave a slight nod. John broke into a wide grin but quickly adjusted his features to that of sympathy.

"Don't bother pretending, John," Sherlock snapped.

The phone beeped. Sherlock lifted the phone gingerly.

_Are you going? If you are, with who?_

John snatched the phone out of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock got up, ran across the room, not without stepping on the coffee table, to rescue his phone but it was too late. John had already sent a reply to Molly.

_Yes. No one at the moment. Maybe you?_

Sherlock groaned in frustration as he read it. But deep down, there was a part of him that was secretly hoping that she could go to the party with him.

"Come on, Sherlock. I'm sure there must be _some _part, no matter how tiny, that actually likes Molly."

Sherlock remained silent and gave no indication of having heard John. There was a tiny part of him that wanted to know what Molly would say to that. But a large part of him did not want to acknowledge that growing ache in his chest.

* * *

Molly almost dropped the flask she was carrying as Sherlock's message popped into the window of her phone. Her heart pounded quickly. Was Sherlock being flirtatious? It was exceedingly unusual for him to make such statements. She hurriedly set the flask on the tabletop and jabbed the keypads.

_Alright, I'll go with you._

And she hit the send button with equal fervour. His reply came almost at once.

_It's a date, then._

Molly squealed and punched the air in victory. Going to a Christmas party with Sherlock Holmes as his _date_ was something she would never have imagined would ever happen in her life!


	7. Chapter 7

_**I'm surprised I got this out quickly. Do review :) It makes my day.**_

_**Disclaimer:**__ The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

Molly's thoughts were preoccupied with the Christmas party. She wanted everything to be perfect – from her clothes to every word she uttered to Sherlock. She didn't want to give the impression of being giggly or air-headed. She wanted Sherlock to see her as a woman with individuality and opinions of her own.

Yes, she had plenty of views on the issues of the world. But whenever Sherlock was near her, her speech would slip and slide, her tongue would be tangled and, oh, how he made her heart flutter. She was always so busy concentrating hard on each of his distinct features that she was so sure she could create a portrait of him from memory.

A sudden thought crossed Molly's mind. A Christmas gift. Specially for Sherlock Holmes. A list of possible presents ran through her mind. A home-made pudding, a mud-pie, some tarts or a fruit cake. They came under the category of food. But Sherlock didn't look like the sort that ate sweet goodies.

But no, thought Molly, he loves blueberry muffins. "Like me," she whispered aloud.

How about, say, a shirt, tie, trousers or coat? Maybe a new wallet or watch? No, it felt too personal.

She shook her head. No, she couldn't get carried away by anything. Sherlock was definitely just being nice to her because of all the times she had helped him in his investigations. But honestly, what gift could be the perfect gift for Sherlock Holmes?

After hours of daydreaming at her work table, she decided she wouldn't give him anything. Why give him a present that he was likely not to appreciate? She'd rather spend the money and time on getting a gorgeous dress which he would be more likely to take notice of and –

And? What did she expect? Was she actually hoping that Sherlock would fall in love with her? Propose to her? And to be called Molly Holmes – Mrs Molly Holmes – by everyone else? She gave a bitter laugh. If only dreams could turn into reality.

She cleared her mind with eight deep breaths. Her dress. She needed a dress. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost time for her to head home. Molly removed her lab coat and hung it in a small closet by the door. At the same time, she took her overcoat and swung it over her shoulders. It was time to shop!

An hour later, Molly still had yet to find the perfect dress for the party. She roughly knew what she was looking for but could not seem to find it. The sky was already dark and not many people were around. As she, yet again, walked empty-handed out of a shop, she caught the smell of blueberry. Following it, she ended up at the entrance of a small, cosy-looking shop that seemed to have many knick-knacks.

A kindly old lady was sitting behind the counter. She gave a wide smile as she saw Molly and nodded happily.

"What would you like, dear?" she asked kindly.

"Well," Molly said truthfully, "I smelled the scent of blueberry and ended up here."

The old woman gave an excited gasp. "I know exactly what you need."

She went to the back of the shop and brought out a long, strapless, midnight blue dress. The slight sheen on the material gave an elegant look to the dress.

"Try this on, sweetie."'

Molly took the dress and disappeared behind a curtain which the old lady had indicated was the changing area.

A few minutes passed in silence. Molly stepped out from behind the worn-out curtain and faced a long mirror. The dress had a long slit up her right leg revealing her skin whenever she walked. There were plenty of gathers at the seams, making Molly look extremely adorable. Her pale skin stood out against the dark colour.

It was the perfect dress for her.

"It's lovely," Molly breathed as she turned around.

"Yes, my dear, it fits you well. You look beautiful."

Molly was startled. "What do you mean?"

"The smell of blueberry led you here. It led you to what you needed. Your heart's desire."

Molly gave a small smile. She refused to believe it and resolved to think of it as a mere coincidence as she paid for the dress. She thanked the lady and walked out of the shop. She flagged a taxi and headed home. Christmas was only two days away.

Molly thought back to what the old lady had said. The heart's desire. Blueberry. Possibly, Sherlock? Molly shook her head. There was no way such a thing could happen in real life. And life was no magical fairytale. She resolved to make sure that Sherlock would look, _look_ at her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to everyone who had been following/reviewing this so far! I appreciate every comment and I hope this chapter is just as favourable to you! *hugs***

**Disclaimer:** _The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

John watched in amusement as Sherlock paced up and down. He knew what was going on in Sherlock's mind, or believed he did. It was the first time since living with Sherlock that John had seen him behave like a human.

It was only half past four in the afternoon. The party would only start three hours later. But Sherlock was so harried and frustrated. And believe it or not, it was all about Molly. Exactly at what point he should meet her – they agreed on 30 degrees, two metres South-West of the entrance of DI Lestrade's house – and all the other mundane trivialities which John was just unable to understand.

"Why, Sherlock, do you stress yourself before a party."

"John, I'm just afraid you don't have the capacity to understand the way my brain works," Sherlock replied as he looked out of the window.

John gave a small laugh. "And I'm glad I don't because the last thing I want to be is like you."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Oh, fascinating."

"Sherlock. I don't envy the way your mind works. No matter how many times I tell you that you're amazing, I believe that I would definitely find it too taxing to be like you."

"I honestly wonder how it's like to be you and practically everyone else. So… carefree and… innocent."

"Are murderers carefree and innocent?"

"No, but _their_ minds work in a different way," Sherlock countered.

"And it so happens you understand how _their_ minds work."

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. "What exactly is it that you're trying to tell me?"

John snorted. "Not smart enough to figure it out?"

Sherlock turned from the window and glared and John. John shrugged and got up from his seat. He began climbing the stairs to his room.

"I'm going to have a shower," he called.

Sherlock merely remained silent and focused his thoughts on more relevant matters at hand.

* * *

Molly was bristling with excitement as she stepped out of her flat. She was wearing the midnight blue dress and had slipped on a pair of low-heeled, black shoes. She definitely did not want to sprain her feet trying to dance in high-heels. Wait, did she just think of dancing? She shook her head and silently told herself to stop imagining what she would do together with Sherlock. Ah, doing things together with Sherlock. That was something she had always loved to fantasize about.

"No, Molly, concentrate," she told herself as she looked out for a tall, mysterious figure.

She managed to get herself into a cab and was so busy settling into the back seat that she didn't realise that the driver was talking to her.

"– to go?" the driver asked.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Where do you want to go?"

Molly gasped. "Oh yes, I'm so sorry."

She quickly searched her bag for her mobile and read the address Sherlock had given her to the driver. She leaned against the seat and gave a quite sigh of relief. She was finally on her way to the party. She would meet Sherlock some distance away from the house and they would enter together. It would save them both the hassle of having to mingle with too many people while waiting for each other to arrive. It all sounded romantic but Molly knew better. Sherlock simply hated to mix around with people.

As the taxi came to a stop, Molly gave a ten pound note.

"Keep the change," she said happily as she got out of the cab.

"Miss, are you sure?"

"Extremely."

Molly smiled and looked around for Sherlock. She held the amethyst pendant that hung from a thin silver necklace around her neck and waited with excitement. She always had the habit of fingering something when she was nervous. A slight tap on her shoulder brought her spinning around but her face fell as she saw who it was.

"Dr. Watson," Molly said in greeting. She saw the lady standing next to John and smiled. "Sarah."

"Molly, how are you?" John asked in return as he looked at her appraisingly.

"Fine thanks."

Sarah gave a knowing look. "Don't worry, dear, Sherlock will be here shortly. In fact, look, he's coming this way."

Molly didn't want to look. She could feel heat rushing through her body and her cheeks were aflame. For once, she felt so conscious about herself. She raised her eyes shyly to behold the person whom she had been so eager to see. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene.

The tall, handsome man walking towards her was wearing a black suit that brought out the paleness of his skin. As he walked, there was a gallant swing in his steps. The gentle breeze fluffed his hair and gave him a tranquil look. His high cheekbones were so clearly defined by the windswept hair. He stopped in front of her and gave a small smile. Molly's eyes rested on his lips. The thin, baby-pink lips that were usually pursed were curved upwards delicately.

"Molly."

"Sherlock."

Molly was surprised at how steady her voice was. She had expected herself to waver and lose her composure. But here she was, talking to Sherlock with such confidence she never expected to find buried within her. And oh, how she loved the sound of his voice. The husky, pure English tone of it always captivated her.

* * *

Sherlock could not find the words to describe his thoughts on first seeing Molly from a distance. She was simply gorgeous, so innocently pretty in that elegant, midnight blue dress and simple shoes. Her dress stood out vividly against her fair skin. Her long, brown hair was gently floating in the wind and came down in delicate curls to her shoulders.

His eyes travelled downwards from her shoulders. The dress seemed to tease him with the way they nicely hugged her womanly curves that used to be hidden under long, unflattering lab coats. As the wind blew, he noticed how there was a slit rising up to her thighs. Temptation was the root of this little bubble in him.

Sherlock finally brought himself to look at Molly's face. Her sweet face that was slightly worried immediately smoothed into one that was secretly happy. Yes, Sherlock could sense the secretiveness of her happiness because it was hidden under a heavily suppressed smile. As he came nearer, her dark, expressive eyes seemed to twinkle – or was it a reflection from the moonlight?

He mentally traced her face down to her nose and finally her lips – all pink and rosy. He shifted his eyes back to her face and greeted her. She had done the same and surprisingly, didn't stammer one bit. Now what? John had reminded him consistently that he needed to be the _gentleman_ and lead the _lady_ to the party.

With much reluctance Sherlock offered his arm a bit stiffly. Molly gently slid her arm through his and held on. As he turned to look at Molly, he noticed a tiny smile on her lips. She seemed pleased and that was all that mattered at the moment.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked quietly.

* * *

Molly gave a small sound of assent. She didn't trust her voice anymore, not with the close physical proximity between her and Sherlock. As they made their way towards the house, Sherlock tilted his head to the side as he looked at Molly, yet again.

"You look very nice today," he said, trying his best to sound as if he was complimenting her and not stating a fact.

Wait, a fact? Did he just think of it as a fact? What was wrong with him?

"Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at Molly in surprise. "You're welcome, Molly. Let's just... enjoy this, shall we?"

"Yes."

Molly tightened her grip on Sherlock's arm as they climbed the steps to the entrance. Surely, even though Sherlock disliked parties and the like, an exception could be made tonight. A little flame lit up in her and her heart pounded. She felt warmth spread over her and a slight flush crept into her cheeks as they entered the house. _Together_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to those people who have added me/this story to alerts/favourites.  
I can't believe I managed to actually write this chapter out. I hope it is okay. Enjoy! :) Reviews are welcome.**

**Disclaimer: **_The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

John watched Sherlock and Molly walk into the house. He was rather surprised that Sherlock had decided to offer his arm to Molly. It didn't really seem quite like the usual Sherlock. However, there was a certain awkwardness hanging around them and Sherlock _did_, in fact, look pretty stiff. It was almost as if he was forcing himself to play the role of the nice and amiable gentleman. Perhaps Sherlock might even be nervous.

"Sherlock and Molly seem to be getting on fine."

John looked at Sarah who gave him a wide smile.

"Well, it's not too bad a start for someone like Sherlock."

Sarah nodded. "I can tell."

"I mean, Sherlock has never exactly been interested in a lady before."

"Indeed? But, surely, there must have been someone who caught his eye."

John shook his head. "Not that I know of, actually. Sherlock doesn't divulge information in that area."

"He's really so… deprived of human companionship, isn't he?"

John snorted. "Am I not human enough for Sherlock?"

"What I meant was people other than his housemate and landlady."

John gave a small noise of assent.

"Poor Sherlock," Sarah continued, "he really gets so caught up in his work, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he sure does. But I'm glad he is _that_ absorbed in work or plenty of criminals would be walking lose around here."

"Molly is a bit queer, don't you think? I've talked to her many times but I still don't understand how she manages to do that job of hers'."

"She's different, definitely. That might be what Sherlock finds attractive."

"But you wouldn't know if that's what Sherlock likes about Molly, would you?"

John shook his head. True, he hadn't ever asked Sherlock once about what he found so fascinating about Molly.

"I'm amazed," Sarah said," that she always has a chirpy smile on her face even though she's at St. Bart's."

"Well, I guess she decides to view her job in a positive light then."

"I guess so," Sarah agreed. "Let's go over there, shall we? And perhaps, we can observe Sherlock and Molly from a distance."

This was definitely going to be engaging.

* * *

Sherlock felt absolutely frustrated. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see John and Sarah engaged in what seemed to be an extremely intense discussion about himself and Molly. They kept glancing over at both him and Molly, even though their eyes only flickered over for a fraction of a second.

He had to admit that being observant and sharp at detecting such things made him feel really superior and happy. Sherlock prided his talents and knew that if he, ever, had to choose between having a girlfriend and being a consulting detective, he would go for his job. After all, he _was_ – and _is_, he added mentally – married to his job.

The most taxing thing at this point was that Sherlock realized how Molly, though looking extremely gorgeous tonight, seemed completely infatuated with him. He tried searching in the depths of his heart of any _feelings_ – damn those blasted things, he thought – that he could reciprocate but found none. Yet, he couldn't understand what made him think so much about her and even agree to go to the Christmas Party.

"There you are, my dear boy."

A kindly old woman walked up to Sherlock and Molly and smiled.

"Why, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock exclaimed as he pecked her on the cheek.

Mrs. Hudson looked at Molly. "She must be the one, then."

Molly smiled. "Nice to meet you. I'm Molly Hooper, a friend of Sherlock's."

"Lovely, lovely. Now you two enjoy this party. I'll just be going off to talk to some people I met just now."

Mrs. Hudson walked away and Sherlock smiled to himself. He was fond of his landlady and knew that she treated him just like a son. He was about to say something to Molly when a voice called out to him.

"Sherlock!"

He turned his head to see who was calling out to him. It was a good friend from his younger days. Sherlock turned to Molly and gently disengaged her arm from his.

"I'll be back soon, Molly," Sherlock mumbled as he strode across the hall to greet his friend.

* * *

Molly watched in astonishment at how Sherlock so easily left her alone in the middle of a huge, grand Christmas party to talk to his friend. What _friend_ of Sherlock? The only friends Sherlock had were John and herself, right? It seemed as if Sherlock didn't think of her as important enough to introduce her to his _friend_. She found herself getting a little irritated as she made her way to the corner where she spotted John and Sarah whispering to one another.

"I'm so shocked," Molly stated with a slight frown.

"What is it?" John and Sarah asked simultaneously.

"Sherlock."

John and Sarah exchanged glances as they peeked over at Sherlock. Indeed, Sherlock was chatting quite animatedly with a woman who seemed to be around Sherlock's age. John's eyes widened in surprise. He had been so sure that Sherlock never once mentioned having a _female friend_ other than Molly.

"Well, dear Molly," Sarah began, "it's probably a classmate or childhood friend. Don't think too much about it."

Molly puffed her cheeks in annoyance. "It's so obvious that he wants to be alone with that lady."

"Maybe Sherlock has something personal to discuss. Sherlock is a pretty private person," John said.

"He just doesn't want me to listen to their conversation. He should have asked her to the party instead!"

John placed a soothing hand on Molly's arm as Sarah smiled comfortingly. "I'm sure Sherlock has his own reasons for doing things."

John agreed. "At the end of the day, Sherlock always protects the ones who are dearest to him."

Molly tried to hold back a tear and turned away from John and Sarah. "I guess I'll just be wandering around."

"Wait, Molly, where – ?" Sarah asked hurriedly.

"Sherlock doesn't need to know. He's never interested in anything to do with me."

With that, Molly headed off swiftly through a small entrance at the back of the hall and walked along a dimly lit passageway. The passage wound and curved till it reached a fork. She decided to go to the left on a whim and found herself facing a large, brown door. She pushed it open and entered a place which looked to be something like an underground garden.

Trees, plants and bushes of all shapes and sizes grew around the area. Little berries hung from tiny bushes and pretty flowers bloomed in the grass. She picked a dandelion and blew it gently. A fine breeze was blowing and she sat down on a wooden bench that hung from four metal chains. It creaked slightly but was surprisingly sturdy. As she swung herself on the seat, she felt tears forming in her eyes.

She had always been alone, all her life. First, her parents had passed away when she was young, leaving her to her relatives who begrudgingly took her in. She was raised like an orphan and treated like one. When she was nineteen, she left her relative's home and rented a small apartment to stay in. It was difficult to get by but she managed to somehow work and study and graduated successfully. She hardly had any friends then because no one wanted to mix with her.

When she hit her mid-twenties, she had her first experience of being in love. There was a young man with fine blonde hair who had been trying to get her attention. He was charming, gentle and seemed to be everything she wanted in her ideal man. But when he found out what kind of place she worked in, she never saw him again. He was probably too disgusted to marry someone who worked in a mortuary. He cancelled his number, moved away from London and was never to be seen again.

Molly met Sherlock later and had always felt attracted to him. But she knew that he never once felt anything for her. He used her to solve his cases. That was all she was, a mere tool for assisting Sherlock. When Jim, dear Jim, from the IT asked her out on a date, she had decided it was time she moved on from Sherlock. She could still vividly recall the time she introduced Jim to Sherlock and heard Sherlock call Jim a gay. If she hadn't known Sherlock better, she would have thought that he was just being jealous. But Sherlock, whose heart _seemed_ to be made of stone, definitely wouldn't be interested in her relationships so it was obvious he was merely trying to get her to break up with Jim instead of getting hurt later.

Or was he?

Molly hit herself inwardly. She couldn't believe she was still thinking about the possibility that Sherlock liked her. Even after Jim turned out to be the evil Moriarty who was tormenting Sherlock, Molly knew she hadn't felt any heartache. She never exactly felt anything close to attachment for Jim, surprisingly, even though he was quite cute and funny. So, she was alone again.

And tonight, when she finally thought she could have Sherlock to herself, he went away to talk to some _female friend_ who's existence was not revealed till just then. Tears slid down her face as she realized that Sherlock would never like her, never.

Molly took a small, lacy, white handkerchief from her bag and dabbed her eyes gently. Ah, she was being so silly, crying over _Sherlock_. _I wonder how many women have gotten all emotional over that cold man_.

The sudden opening of the door brought her back to the present as she looked up to see who had entered. She was half-hoping, of course, that it would be Sherlock but knew that it was almost impossible for the brainiest detective to figure out where she would have gone – that's if he was even searching for her. Molly was right. The person who had entered was a stranger.

"Hey," the stranger said as he moved towards Molly. "Why are you crying?"

Molly grimaced. "It's nothing important really."

The stranger moved nearer and stood in front of Molly. On closer look, Molly realized that it was a handsome man with dark brown hair and clear grey eyes. Not too bad looking, thought Molly. She wacked herself internally again. Why was she thinking of such things when her life was in danger?

Her life was in danger?

Molly sat up with a start. She was alone in an underground room far away from the crowd in the hall. And here was a man whose identity was extremely mysterious.

"Molly, tell me."

The stranger moved to sit next to her but Molly immediately got up and back away hurriedly. How did he even know her name?

"Who are you?" she asked in a panicky voice.

"No one."

"You _are_ someone."

"Well if you must know, my date has been stolen from me by the man who came with you!"

Molly started in surprise. "What? You mean that lady was your date for the party?"

The stranger nodded impatiently. "You're Molly, aren't you? I overheard your name while your friends were talking to you."

Molly tried to put on a brave face as she looked at the stranger in the eye. "It's none of your business."

"Sherlock Holmes is talking to my date. I was left alone, and so were you. I come in here and see you crying."

"So?"

The stranger grinned in what seemed to be an evil way. "I can comfort you. Maybe, we could do something interesting?"

He advanced toward her, getting faster with each step. Molly back away and tried running but found herself blocked by the stranger who had a tight grip around her arm.

"It's too late. I've caught you!" The stranger cackled.

Molly screamed in terror – screaming something which she couldn't really comprehend while the stranger's face swam in front of her and everything turned pitch black.


	10. Chapter 10

**A million thanks to the people who have reviewed/added this story/me to their favs/alerts. I know its been ages since the last time I updated. I have no idea why I just sat on this chapter. This is the last chapter, dear readers. There will only be one more update after this : the epilogue. So for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: **_The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

"Dr. Watson."

John looked up at the voice. It was the landlady Mrs. Hudson. He gave her a warm smile.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson?" he asked politely, inviting her to sit down with him and Sarah.

"That's lovely of you Doctor, but I'd rather stand," Mrs. Hudson replied as she watched the couple. "Now, who would this lovely young lady be?"

"Ah, pardon me, Mrs. Hudson, this is my girlfriend Sarah," John said quickly with the appropriate gestures. "And Sarah, this is my landlady Mrs. Hudson."

The two ladies smiled at each other.

"I've heard quite a wonder about you, Sarah dear," Mrs. Hudson said.

John's eyes widened. What in the world did Mrs. Hudson mean? And ever since when had he even talked to her about Sarah?

"Oh, really, that's – " began Sarah looking at John.

But John cut her short. "Mrs. Hudson, what in the world do you mean?"

"Dear Dr. Watson, Sherlock and I just had a little chat over tea and biscuits one hot afternoon while you were out at the clinic," Mrs. Hudson explained.

"What?!"

"Perhaps, Sherlock had forgotten to mention this little bit to you given the recent turn of events in _his_ life."

"Oh my god. That bastard really – "

"He's the reason why I stopped by to talk to you."

John sat up straighter. Now, what had Sherlock done for _Mrs. Hudson_ to come over to him during a Christmas party?

"Have you seen him around?"

John shook his head. "No, the last time we saw him, he was talking to some lady."

"You mean Molly?"

"No," Sarah offered. "It was some other lady. Rather regal-looking."

"Wow," Mrs. Hudson replied, surprised. "I never knew Sherlock had many women at once."

"Mrs. Hudson!" John exclaimed. "Sherlock _doesn't_ have any woman!"

"I know, I was just teasing you." Mrs. Hudson beamed at John and Sarah. "It must be the sherry that's acting on me. Well, see you later dear."

John watched as the little old lady walked off. She was definitely a little tipsy but her search for Sherlock made John a little tensed. Where was Sherlock and what in the world was he doing at this time?

"Sarah."

"Yes, John?"

"Where is Sherlock?"

"No idea, dear."

"Where is Molly?"

"She went – "

"Somewhere, right?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think, that maybe – "

" – Sherlock went after her? Why not?" Sarah said with a smile forming on her face. "I don't see any reason why we should rule out that possibility.

"I'm hoping that's the case, Sarah."

* * *

Sherlock looked down at Molly's peacefully, sleeping face. Her breathing was slow and even. Sherlock smiled. He was extremely glad that he was able to arrive in time before the weird stranger did – who knows what he might have done. Sherlock tucked a lose strand of hair behind Molly's ear and closed his eyes. Yet again, he had to admit, his actions were based on the _emotions_ – damn those blasted things – he felt.

He remembered very clearly that after talking to his friend, he had scanned the crowd for Molly and thought he would have found her seated with John and Sarah. But she was nowhere to be seen and neither John nor Sarah knew where Molly had gone. He panicked immediately and went in the direction that John had pointed.

It was purely based on his gut feeling that Sherlock managed to find Molly. The weird stranger had been cornering her and in an instant, Sherlock felt his body move on its own accord. Before he knew it, the stranger was running out of the room and Sherlock was carrying Molly in his arms to the seat, placing her in a sitting position and then leaning her against his shoulders as he sat down.

Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the seat. Right now, with Molly's head resting on his shoulder, Sherlock could feel his heart beating faster than normal. What about Molly, Sherlock wondered as his hand reached down to Molly's hand.

Her skin was so soft but a little rough at the fingertips. Sherlock drew little circles on her fingertips, thinking about how dedicated Molly was to her work. His hands stopped at her wrist. He tried to feel for her pulse and found it to be at quite a normal rate. Not any longer, Sherlock thought smugly, smirking as Molly stirred.

It took some time for Molly to take in her surroundings and when she finally realized that she was leaning on Sherlock's shoulder, she scooted to the end of the seats and looked down at her hands, nervously twisting them.

"Um, Sh-Sherlock, why was I – "

"Resting?" Sherlock completed, interrupting Molly's question. "You became unconscious."

Molly nodded quickly. "What happened before I lost consciousness?"

Doing her best not to make it obvious, Molly tried shifting herself further away from Sherlock but angling her body to face him partially. She saw Sherlock's eyes shift and grimaced inwardly. He realised what I was trying to do, she thought and froze completely where she was.

"You're about to fall off the seat, Molly."

Molly bit her lip and looked up at Sherlock. Amusement was etched in every line of his face as he tried to hold back a tiny smile.

"W-well," Molly stuttered.

"Molly, I saved you from an absurd guest who had set his sights on using you for his personal pleasure."

"Oh, oh. Thank you very much, Sherlock."

She decided that she ought to move closer to Sherlock instead of making him feel uncomfortable.

* * *

Sherlock watched Molly closely as she shifted towards him. She was really beautiful tonight. Her skin shone softly in the light. As she looked up from beneath her lashes, Sherlock felt something stir deep within him. Damn it, he thought angrily, why did he have to react to such things?

He suddenly felt acutely aware that Molly was just inches away from him. All he had to do was just move his hand and he could reach her.

No, thought Sherlock. What kind of hellish trick were his thoughts trying to play on him?

Molly looked up and her eyes widened. Sherlock, curious, followed suit and wished that he had picked a better spot to sit underneath. Right above them hung mistletoe. It had a mischievous air about it and seemed to bring the two of them closer together.

"Mistletoe," Molly whispered looking at Sherlock with slightly wary eyes.

"I know," he replied.

"It's tradition, you know?" she said.

"Yeah."

Sherlock felt himself move towards Molly. His lips met Molly's expectant ones. It was a gentle kiss, nothing extravagant. But the moment their lips broke apart, there was a feeling of need, of wanting more. Before Sherlock could logically grasp what was happening, Molly's lips met his again and, needless to say, all logical and sensible thoughts flew out of his head.

* * *

Molly's eyes filled with tears as she and Sherlock moved apart. The look in Sherlock's eyes told her what she had always known from the time she realised she had quite liked Sherlock. She knew that she would never be able to be with Sherlock. No matter how much she liked him, no matter how much effort she put into trying to make Sherlock fall for her, she wouldn't ever be able to be with him.

It was not that Sherlock disliked her or hated her. No, it was none of that. It was a matter of the type of people they were. She wasn't intelligent or quick-witted. She would be of use to Sherlock for his work but she couldn't stand the thought of being second to his work. She smiled sadly.

"Molly."

Molly looked up to find Sherlock looking at her thoughtfully. His cheeks were faintly pink. She smirked inwardly. So Sherlock _does_ have some feelings and emotions in these situations.

"Sherlock."

Molly knew what Sherlock was about to say. It was written in every line of his face.

"I really like you. I really do, Molly. But _you_ know and _I_ know that some things can't happen. I wouldn't be able to give you the kind of happiness you deserve. I'm much better off married to my work than being in a relationship with you and not being able to be a good partner to you."

Molly smiled. It was a sweet, painful smile. "I know, Sherlock."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Ever since when did you know?"

"Just. It just came to me after we…"

"Yeah," Sherlock nodded.

They sat in silence for some time, enjoying the companionship they were able to offer each other.

"But Molly, the future is uncertain. So, you never knew what may happen."


	11. Epilogue

**The epilogue.**

**Disclaimer: **_The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story._

* * *

"Molly!"

Molly Hooper looked up from her work to see a harried Sherlock Holmes rushing into her lab. The past few days had been so hectic because Sherlock had been coming in and out many times a day to use the equipment in her lab in order to solve the latest murder case.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Molly asked, aware that she probably would get the usual gruff answer in reply.

Sherlock launched into a detailed description of what he needed to borrow from her. Molly listened patiently, even though she knew exactly what he needed. Her eyes wandered over Sherlock's face for a moment and she looked into his eyes but looked away at exactly the moment she felt he was aware that she was trying to make eye contact.

Molly nodded as she bustled around, picking up whatever that Sherlock had requested for and set it out in an orderly manner. Then she retreated without a word to her workbench and continued with what she had been doing before she was interrupted by Sherlock.

Sherlock silently sat down to work on what he was investigating on. Silence engulfed the room and when Molly could bear it no longer, she quietly snuck out of her lab and made her way to the restroom. There, she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

The face that was looking back at her was one of utter sadness. Her eyes carried a melancholic look and her lips quivered. Her vision started blurring as she realized that tears were welling up in her eyes, making it difficult for her to see.

_Do I still like Sherlock that much?_

Four months had passed since the Christmas ball and she only saw Sherlock twice within that time. This was her third time meeting Sherlock and she couldn't believe that even after all the time that had passed, he could still stir up the feelings which she had so surely believed had disappeared. The feelings that had always been there, lying dormant, waiting for a moment to sneak up upon her and make her all weak again.

_No_, _get over him. There are so many other fish in the sea._

"Fish in the sea, huh," Molly mumbled aloud, laughing bitterly.

Her job wasn't one that brought her into contact with many, well, _living_ people. Let alone, men. It was the occasional detective, her boss, her colleague down the end of the corridor or DI Lestrade whom she saw. And, of course, not forgetting, Sherlock Holmes.

Molly took her lipstick out of her pocket and pursed her lips. She slowly ran it over her lips as she thought longingly of the days when she could just go about, crushing on Sherlock and not worrying about anything else. Slipping her lipstick case back into her pocket and dabbed her eyes gently with a paper towel, tossing it into the bin as she made her way out of the restroom.

She made her way back slowly to her lab, stopping to have a look up at the top floor. A dashing, young man was leaning against the railing looking down at her. He gave her a smile, showing off his pearly-whites. Molly stopped in her tracks. _Was this guy smiling at me? And gosh, he's not too bad looking either!_

Molly smiled back in return and waited expectantly.

"Hey, you must be Molly Hooper," the man said, sounding rather friendly.

"Wha… how did you know?"

"I'm Drake from IT," he said, grinning. "That should pretty much explain everything."

He winked at Molly as he replied, sending a little shiver up Molly's spine. _Now_, thought Molly, _if only Sherlock could be a little flirtatious like that, how nice things would be!_

Molly continued smiling. "Yes it does."

"Care for a cuppa?"

She grimaced. "Sorry, not at the moment. I've got to get back to my lab now. I need to help my friend with his investigation."

"Who is it?

Molly paused for a moment before answering. Drake's voice carried a tone of vague curiosity mixed with animosity, almost like as if he knew who was in her lab. Another thing that was preventing Molly from answering was the fact that Sherlock didn't like the people working in the mortuary to know he was there, even if he had authorization.

"A friend, really."

"Mind if I pop by your lab? I'd love to see what things are like in there," Drake said excitedly, flashing a bright smile.

_He sounds relatively genuine_, thought Molly. _Oh, why not?_ There's no harm in letting someone visit her lab. After all, she was doing anything of importance in there at the moment. _I mean, there's really no harm in letting someone I _just _met into my lab _just_ for a look around_, Molly found herself thinking again. _Oh, don't be so suspicious of everyone!_

"Actually, you know what? I'll have a cuppa after all."

Drake smiled. "All right then. I'll meet you in the cafeteria in a minute!"

"Sure thing," Molly said, grinning as she made her way to the café.

Even though her day didn't really start off well, it looked like things were getting better now that she had just managed to score herself a date. Perhaps, she would be able to move on from Sherlock after all.


End file.
